


Paint Stained Hands

by CastielsProfoundBees



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Castiel (Supernatural), But here it is, Fluff, M/M, No Angst, Painter Castiel (Supernatural), and i've worked on this too long, idk I havent slept in awhile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 11:05:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11530890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsProfoundBees/pseuds/CastielsProfoundBees
Summary: “Dean, it’s a coffee shop, not Hell. Just get me a coffee?” His brother tried again over the phone and Dean can practically see the bitch face his brother is making.That’s how it happened. Now Dean had been coming to the hippie coffee shop called Angel’s Coffee for the past month or two. But oh, not for the coffee or the crap music. He came for the barista whose name tag Dean couldn’t quite pronounce; he preferred to call him Mr. Paint. As odd as that sounds the dude did always have dried paint on his hands. Dean didn’t know what he was always painting, but, it was always a different abstract color.





	Paint Stained Hands

“I will not go to the hippie coffee shop,” Dean remembers pointedly saying to Sam across the phone. Dean didn’t care if Sam keeled over in the next moment from lack of caffeine, he refused to go in that coffee shop. The coffee shop that had a little chalkboard outside with the day’s special and next to it potted flowers that somehow always looked immaculate. Dean had shuddered at the thought.

“Dean, it’s a coffee shop, not Hell. Just get me a coffee?” His brother tried again over the phone and Dean can practically see the bitch face his brother is making.

“Eh, alright, alright. I’m not happy about it though, okay?”

“Yeah, Dean I get that. See you soon.”

And that’s how it happened. Now Dean had been coming to the hippie coffee shop called Angel’s Coffee for the past month or two. But oh, not for the coffee or the crap music. He came for the barista whose name tag Dean couldn’t quite pronounce; he preferred to call him Mr. Paint. As odd as that sounds the dude did always have dried paint on his hands. Dean didn’t know what he was always painting but it was always a different abstract color. 

Mr. Paint had dark unruly hair and Dean didn’t know if that was just bedhead or if the dude had sex before coming in because that was definitely sex hair. But that’s not all. Dean could write poems about his eyes (Although he most certainly won’t). They were azure sky blue and just stunning. The man was obviously built too, Dean could tell that much. So long story short, he was way out of Dean’s league.

“Sir?” Mr. Paint says drawing him from his thoughts. He’s waving his (Orange today, huh?) paint speckled hand in front of Dean’s face.

“Oh, sorry man. I spaced out,” Dean says in a vain attempt to explain himself. He feels heat rise to his face. 

The man smiles slightly, just the small upturn of his lips. He should do that more Dean thinks distantly. He looks good smiling. “The usual then, Dean?” he asks.

“Yeah, thanks,” Dean says feeling his face turn even redder. He rubbed absently at the back of his neck. Curse his nervous habits! 

“Hey, you know my name and it doesn’t seem quite fair when I can’t even pronounce yours,” he says finally, hands fisting themselves in his pockets. “Castle? Casteel? Castale?”

Mr. Paint lets out a chuckle and he smiles broadly. “It’s pronounced Castiel but you can call me Cas,” he says while presumably writing Dean’s name on the cup.  
“Here’s your coffee Dean,” the man hands him his coffee with a slight flush to his cheeks. Dean turns to leave, slightly confused at Cas’s flush demeanor when usually he was so collected. He can faintly hear him helping another customer as he opens the double doors to leave.

Just as he was unlocking Baby and climbing in the front seat he sees some writing on the side of his cup. In a neat scrawl, it reads: You’re cute when you’re embarrassed (000)000-000. Dean flushes inside his car but he can’t help but feel ecstatic. That was definitely flirting and two can play at that game.

 

======

“Alright who is it?” Sam eventually asks because quite frankly he’s kind of sick of it. For the past month, Dean will leave their shared apartment and come back with a smile on his face and what appears to be an entirely new outlook on life. Sam’s not stupid or oblivious he is studying at Stanford, mind you. So when Dean came home today clutching an empty coffee cup and a dumbstruck smile painted on his face Sam just knows. 

Dean turns red for the third time today “Wha-? No, no I haven’t met anyone. What are you talking about?” he practically splutters. He makes his way to hang up his coat but, apparently still dazed and embarrassed, trips on air and luckily catches himself against the wall. 

“Dean you’ve been happier than I’ve seen you since Lisa. You’ve met someone. Who are they?” 

“No one bitch,” Dean replies defensively. 

“Yes someone, jerk, now spill.” 

“Okay, alright I give up. His name is Cas. He works at that hippie coffee shop downtown.” Dean is absolutely fuschia now and Sam doesn’t know whether to feel happy or embarrassed for him.  
“So when’re you gonna ask him out then?” Sam says getting straight to the point

“Well, it looks like he already did. Kind of?” He replied looking at the coffee cup again.  
“He just wrote his number and his hours on the lid of my cup.”

“Just don’t let what happened with Lisa happen again. Capice?”

“Capice,” he says eyes lowered and his brows furrowed in a disdainful position.

=======

Dean skips the coffee shop the next day in favor of mulling over his own thoughts. Should he text Cas? Is it too late to text Cas? What if it happens again…? No, no, this will be different, he has to remind himself. Cas isn’t Lisa, he wouldn’t cheat on him. 

=======

Green. His hands are a familiar, ethereal, earthy, green color. This time the color is all over him. It’s under his nails, on his palm, and even a little on the side of his neck. What the hell is he painting? 

“Oh, hello Dean,” Cas says when Dean approaches the counter. He’s unsure of what to do since he never properly texted or called after the lid incident. He supposes from Cas’s perspective he must look pretty douchey. However, though, it seems to be that Cas is stuck in his own thoughts this time. 

“You good man? Ya seem out of it,” Dean asks concern infiltrating his voice. 

Cas seems to shake himself out of whatever he’s thinking about before saying, “Yes, of course, I am. Why would I not be?” Dean just shakes his head slightly and orders his usual and says “Oh, and I’ll be drinking in this time. No to go cup.” 

Dean seats himself at a back corner seat facing the passing cars. He has one chance at this and he cannot screw up. So he reaches for a napkin and starts to write on it. He folds it neatly when he’s done and turns it upside down. 

“Here’s your coffee. Do you need anything else?” A pretty young waitress says as she hands him his coffee. She seems to have an alternate motive though with her big smile and how she pushes her bangs back. Dean’s been to enough diners and bars to know what she’s doing.

“That’ll be all sweetheart, thanks,” he says with a grin and a cheeky voice with a wave of his hand. She seems to deflate but starts to move along anyway when Dean calls out “But, uh, when I leave could you make sure this napkin gets left for that cashier over there? It’s important.”

She gives him a confused look before her mouth forms an ‘O’ in sudden realization. “Uh, yeah, sure thing.”

Dean gives her his gratitude before starting on his coffee. He looks down and sees the heart shaped foam. It makes him smile despite the fact that it’s probably a customary for the beverage workers.

========

It’s a little after nine and halfway through his Star Wars binge when his phone starts to ring. It’s an unknown number but Dean knows exactly who it is. He scrambles for the phone before clicking answer, but before he can say anything he hears “Dean,” in a low slightly aggravated tone.

“Uh, hey Cas. I guess you got my message?” he states more than asks really.

“Yes, and here I was spending the entirety of yesterday furious at myself for writing my number on your cup,” he says voice both hopeful and annoyed at the same time. “That was a terrible pickup line just for your information.”

Dean chuckles out loud to himself, he remembers distinctly looking up artist pickup lines and seeing ‘I thought I was looking at Monet, but you’re so much more beautiful up close <3’ and knowing that he had to use it. “You can thank google for that one,” he says voice light with laughter.

“You’re very lucky you’re handsome Dean because that was just sad.”

“Hey, was I just called handsome?” He counters mocking surprise.

“Quite possibly.”

“If that’s the case we should grab a coffee or something sometime this week,” Dean says without fully realizing Cas works at a coffee shop and probably has to drink coffee all the time. 

“Actually I don’t like coffee,” he states matter of factly. Regardless to say it crushes Dean’s hopes just a bit. “But if you’re okay with it, you can come to my place and I can make coffee and tea. I know it’s not as luxurious but…”

“Yes,” Dean replies without hesitating. “Of course I’d like to come over for tea.” 

 

========

 

A week later Dean is stuck deciding on what pair of jeans to wear. His dark pair or his light pair? Holes or no holes? He’s been at this for almost an hour and he’s pretty sure Sam is on to him. Which brings us to his current situation, Sam standing in the doorway giving him a delighted grin. He has his phone out and Dean hasn’t spotted him yet, too busy deciding over dark or light. 

An electric sound of camera shutters and an unmanly giggle later Dean has turned around to spot Sam taking a picture of him. “Really, dude? This is important,” Dean dead pans at him. 

“I know it is, which means you’re probably freaking out. Also, go with the dark,” Sam says halfheartedly. 

“Thanks,” Deang grumbles, “Now please leave so I can finish.” 

Dean finally exits his room in dark washed jeans, a black t-shirt, with a red button up flannel over it. No band t-shirts, no grease stains, no holes; in the land of Dean Winchester he was dressed up. 

========

Dean arrives at Cas’s apartment almost exactly on time. He considers briefly about waiting in his car for a few minutes, he was afraid he seemed too eager. But, alas, here he was, in front of Castiel’s apartment door. He raises his fist and knocks hoping he didn’t knock too hard and what if he knocked too soft? Could Cas hear him? Dean mentally shook himself, stop freaking out, this will be fine. 

Cas answers the door wearing a navy sweater and dark washed jeans. His hair was as tamed as he could probably have gotten it, still though, Dean wanted to ruffle it. These weren’t the first things Dean notices though, his first observation is that there’s no paint on his hands. He finds this remarkably odd but says nothing. 

“Dean! Come in, I’m just now making the tea,” his voice is deep and rough. It’s much clearer now too, he notes, that there’s no coffee machines whirring in the background. 

“Heya, Cas,” Dean responds his left hand coming to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. He walks into Cas’s home and takes in the cleanliness of it all. Dean knew it was a nice apartment but this was a nice apartment. The living room is filled wall to wall with bookshelves and in the middle is a leather couch and a TV. 

“I hope you like Earl Gray, it’s one of my favorites,” Cas says pouring tea into cups and humming. “Do you want sugar or honey?” He asks. 

“Sugar, thank you,” he says as Cas hands him the steaming cup. Dean follows him as he walks into the living room, trying his best not to look at his butt, but wow. Cas sits down and Dean does as so next to him. 

Dean expected this to be, well, awkward. But once Dean made a comment about how one of his favorite Star Trek characters drank Earl Gray tea conversation just flowed. They talked till their tea had gotten cold and the sun outside was dimming. Dean had never been so happy and he hoped Cas felt the same. As the night was coming to a close though Dean had to ask one question that had been on his mind. 

“What have you been painting?” Dean admits to having seen paint on his hands at the cafe, but, he didn’t mention how they had always been green lately. 

“Well, I think it’s best to show you,” Cas blushed slightly and stood up. “Stay here.” 

Cas disappears for a few minutes before coming back with a canvas that appeared to be a few feet by a few feet. He had it turned around backward from him though, as to hide whatever the cover depicted. 

“This is going to sound weird, and I understand that, but I’ve had my eye on you for awhile at the cafe-” Cas admits shyly, starting to tap his fingers nervously on the board, “-Anyway, I always really liked the color of your eyes. So I may have done this…”

He turns the canvas around to reveal a beautiful meadow filled with trees and flowers and just earthly green. There’s no clear indication that it was based on Dean’s eyes but, if he's correct, every shade of green was created with his eyes in mind. Dean is in awe, it’s miraculous and wonderful. He smiles largely up at Cas who in turn smiles even wider right back at him. 

“Y’know, I could get use to drinking tea if you keep painting like that,” Dean says with a smirk as he stands and kisses Cas like he’s been wanting to for weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this for awhile whenever I'm bored and/or in a stump. It's pretty much been in my drafts for over a year and I'm just really glad it's over even though it's not the best. I grammar checked it, but, I haven't slept in a few days so... Either way, I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> If you wanna leave a prompt or just say Hi you can message me at castielsprofoundbees.tumblr.com


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